


sabotage for empathy

by sugarby



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Depression, Gen, High School, Insecurity, M/M, Sabotage, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: When words can't reach people, the next best option is to take action. Isn't it? The note in Noctis' locker and what comes after aren't attacks on him, they're attempts for him to understand the perspective of his best friend, tohearhim. Prompto wants his best friend to feel insecure just to know what it's like.





	sabotage for empathy

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know what to think about writing this but the new territory is refreshing.

****It starts with a letter. Nothing formal or fancy, nor even on decorative card but somehow still personal; it’s scribbled words along lined-paper—paper that was once completely clean and neat but is now crackly and scrunched, falling immediately out of Noctis’ locker when he opens it. The automatic response is to bend down, pick it up and maybe read it. That’s what anyone does and even the Lucian Prince has curiosity, right?

Prompto watches him. He stands there, unnecessarily adjusting the straps of his backpack, pensively leaning from one foot to the other, biting his lips expectantly and nervously. His being here is quite normal; he’s always here, always with Noctis at their lockers and in their classes, in their lunch hour and after-school. They are near inseparable as best friends.

Noctis turns the note over in the clutches of his thumb and index finger, debating whether or not to open it, wondering what it’ll say. He doesn't feel like he’s about to break any moral codes here—the letter lived in his locker shortly so it’s obviously meant for him. And to be honest, he’s caught on to ‘secret’ crushes girls (and a few guys) have had or are currently still dealing with over him, but none of them have ever said anything directly to him. They can't. How are they meant to confess to a taken, royal figure? So Noctis isn't sure yet what the note will say. He’s not scared, only curious. But not Prompto. He doesn't have to be. He can read the lines already, knows they’re inked in black and have forgone a pleasing penmanship for a short, blunt poem, knows the words are questions meant to bring hurt but be insightful. He should know these things.

He wrote it.

Noctis opens and reads the note to himself without commentary, and though his best friend waits for a freak-out reaction, he only chucks the letter to the back of his locker. Then he yanks open his bag to take books out to be replaced by some from in his locker.

Prompto lips slightly quiver as he doesn't know what to think. He secretly hates the way his best friend can move on after having something terrible sent their way, while at the same time he thinks it’s impressive. It's that funny, conflicting feeling of jealousy, and it always feels worse than hate.  “Wh-What, er...what’s it say, buddy?”

“Does it matter?”

 _ 'So I don't matter?' _  Prompto thinks in the not-so-distant part of his mind. "Why? Is a love letter making you all shy?”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s nothing at all.” Noctis says in a conclusive tone. Prompto wonders if he’d still say that if he knew calling the note and it’s purpose ‘nothing’ would ache in his best friend's heart and make _him_ feel like nothing. Noctis closes his locker under the ringing bell and throws his bag back over his shoulder, “We better get to class otherwise the surprise quiz we’ve got waiting is gonna miss us.”

Like the note was never written, Prompto fits under his best friend’s arm and together they walk to class as the inseparable best friends everyone sees them as.

. . . .

 

Anyone with any insight in to what’s going on, even in the smallest sense, will think it all starts with phase one: the note. Traverse back some years, though, to several real origins where the desperate urge to plea began. Heroes flying across screens and saving the world have backstories, and all the bad characters in classic and modern stories have motives, don’t they? Why not a victim of self-criticism and isolation by peers? Why not the dorky, once friendless Prompto still going through rough patches now?

It starts with milk and cookies in during Summer recess in Elementary school, when kids call Noctis' milk mustache cute but ask themselves why plump, round Prompto is indulging. _‘Doesn't he care?’_ , they wondered. _‘Does he want to be fatter?’_

It starts with parties, the ones Noctis always gets invited to and the scarce few Prompto is allowed to attend as a pity-favor to the Prince. He’d put on a brave face and make jokes to prove he can be fun comic-relief, but on the inside he’d count every second the party went on for because the hours felt like years, because time has the cruel effect of slowing when you really want it to speed up.

It starts with Phys-Ed. when all the guys take off their shirts without a second thought but Prompto's fingers linger at the hem. He’s put so much time and focus in to running and eating all the right foods but what if it’s not enough? What if his toned stomach unfolds and bulges out? What if someone finds a reason to give it a spotlight?

And it starts with saying they'll be friends forever but being dragged apart, Noctis by royal duties and Prompto by the unforgettable fact he means little to nothing as a commoner.

Prompto has thought about crying for help but he’s convinced he won't be understood by Noctis, who in all these recollections has been on the popular side. He’s thought about talking to Ignis over cups of tea but his life is everything and anything Noctis. Even talking to Gladio, the strong shield to the Prince, seems impossible; Prompto can hear him telling him to ‘toughen up’.

There's irony in Prompto wanting to be heard when being adopted into a large family means shouting over multiple voices just so his existence isn't wiped. He and his six other adopted siblings are all blond, all bicker as much as love each other and are all raised by loving parents; they're like the iconic Brady-Bunch family that used to rule TV screens. And just like in a standard family, Prompto keeps things from his parents so they don't have to worry. If they do, they'll try to reassure him, call him their amazing son and remind him how much he's loved because their child's pain is also theirs, but parental praise is obligatory so it can only do so much.

So...when words can't reach people, the next best option is to take action.

Isn't it?

The note in his locker and what's to come aren't attacks on Noctis, they're attempts for him to understand the perspective of his best friend, to hear him.

 

. . . .

 

"Hey, do you think I'm doing okay?" Noctis asks out of the blue in their free period they responsibly spend studying in the library.

Prompto lowers his textbook just under his blue, innocent-looking eyes, "Specifically in which department?"

"The soon-to-be-King one. I know I’m not yet but I already feel like I’m failing.

Prompto puts his book down open on the page he hasn't finished reading. He’s been waiting to hear something like this, "Does it have something to do with the letter? You got that last week.”

"Yeah but did I ever tell you what it said?"

“...No."

“Well, in a poetic way, I got told that I’m not a thing like my dad and I’m gonna be a shitty King. Oh, and I got asked how much milk costs like it’s at the top of my list to know. What the hell? I don't get what they’re trying to say or do other than rile me up.”

" _Do you_?"

"I just said I don’t know what they’re trying—”

“Do you _know_ how much milk costs?”

“That’s the last thing I give a shit about right now. Seriously, Prom.”

Prompto looks down at the table, disappointed although he doesn’t know why he even expected a different answer. In this world, there are fearful people who check prices and carefree people who don’t need to. For the record, Prompto recalls the prices to himself: Regular milk costs 17Gil and smaller cartons cost 9Gil but both are fifty percent off if you have a coupon. And God knows he’s been saving as many as he can, paying practically in coupons than real cash. He settles the textbook back in to his hands, focuses on the words across the pages to distract his hands from digging crescent marks n to his palms.

"They have no clue.” Noctis bitterly refers to the note writer, with absolutely no idea they’re sitting with him. “I go to school just like them and everyone else but they don’t know how hard I have it afterward. I have to ‘uphold a certain’ image and sacrifice things I wanna do just ‘cause it might look bad to some people. I spar with Gladio four hours a day, seven days a week and he doesn’t cut me any slack whatsoever just ‘cause I’m his boss. Then I’m in rehearsal meetings with Ignis, and every day I’m convincing my dad that his teenage son isn’t going to suddenly up and quit being the future ruler of Lucis from all the meltdowns even though they’re totally warranted!”

“Dude, can you not?”

“What? I’m not allowed to be pissed at some nobody misjudging me?”

“It’s not the first time. You get people asking questions and telling stories about you all the time. Oh, and you probably shouldn’t call one of your ‘subjects’ a nobody, Noct. You shouldn’t call anybody that.”

Noctis looks down for a brief time of guilt. “...I’m just saying. I'm not a King yet—hopefully not for _a very long time_. Right now, I’m like them; I’m a high school student with exams and homework—”

“And an existential-crisis over your future?”

“What? _No_ . That was decided for me before I knew how to walk."

“Well clearly you’re not like the rest of us. The rest of us are gonna be adults soon and we don’t all have our futures mapped out for us! The rest of us have to pass our exams and do our homework because it matters if we fail, we don’t have an alternative plan waiting for us! You’ll be King someday and sure, maybe that’s not as easy as telling people what to do and living a life of luxury, but you’ll have people like Ignis practically holding up cue cards and Gladio and a hundred other _nobodies_ signing up to sacrifice their lives for you!”

Noctis reclines in his seat with wider eyes, “...What’s with you? Did one of your brothers or sisters break a new lens cap or something? I can totally buy you a new one. I know those things are, like, your entire life.”

His entire life, like there’s nothing else involved. Like all Prompto has the brain cells to give a damn about are lens caps for his photography hobby. And there’s Noctis, offering up money because where he’s from, it all comes in heavy showers. There are no coupons in his drawers, Prompto bets.

“ _Noctis_ , are you listening to yourself?”

“Are _you_?”

Prompto closes his eyes and breathes. He’s close to snapping the book closed loud enough for everyone to hear and storming out of the library altogether. He hates how his justified defense is being made out irrational. Why does anything have to be wrong with him for calling out the truth? He rubs his temples slowly, breathes in, out. “Can we just focus on reading our textbooks? I’ve got a stomach-ache.” he lies, but has experienced enough stomach aches in Noctis’ presence for it to be plausible.

“What did you eat?”

“Cereal. I know I used to be fat but that’s literally all I ate. I didn’t binge on any burgers or any candy bars or sneak in a milkshake—”

“No, no. _Hey_ ,” Noctis whispers in a hurry and places a hand over his best friend’s. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ , I swear.”

Prompto nods. He knows he didn't.

“Want some painkillers? Want me to take you to the nurse?” Now Noctis is being considerate, caring about the friend who just completely unloaded on him out of jealousy, frustration. It doesn’t matter if it can be justified, the kindness extending to him makes Prompto feel awful, enough to dislike himself. And when he dislikes himself, he wants to be alone.

“It’s fine...I can go by myself.” Prompto stands and the rough grating sound is loud in the library. Noctis watches him as he shoves all of his belongings in to his bag. He calls out to him but Prompto marches straight out and doesn't look back, doesn't visit the school nurse.

 

. . . .

 

The second phase happens a couple days later at Noctis first and main home. Between the other day and now, neither one of them have brought up the incident of Prompto leaving without a word right after a heated speech. It’s not like them to fight. So it’d be weird for Noctis to ask about it or for Prompto apologize...especially when he’s not sorry about what he said.

Prompto waits in the kitchen a little while for Noctis to finish his daily sparring with Gladio. It isn’t long but he manages to make discoveries about the grandness of the room, like the amount of black, polished tiles it has across the floor, and how every appliance is four times the average size.

Noctis turns up sweaty and exhausted as he has to lean against the table-island. “Hey, I’ll be with you in a sec.”

“No worries. Uh, but do you know you have a fraction of a facial mask right here?” Prompto asks and taps the location on his own cheek. “Oh oh. Someone needs to start getting tips from Beauty Gurus on Youtube.”

Noctis swipes an arm across his cheek and groans at the dirty smear, “Ugh, I got knocked on my ass pretty hard. I hate sparring outside.”

Gladio smirks behind him, “You hate _losing_ outside is more like it."

"Quit gloating. I'll get you next time."

"Yeah, tough guy? We'll see. Right now, you need to have your energy shake."

"I will after my shower. See you guys in a bit."

"Man," Prompto chuckles when his best friend has left. "I wouldn't be surprised if dirt on his cheek is the closest to common ground he's ever been." He means it jokingly and sourly. The worst he’s had on his face is blemishes—the blooming sore kind that aren’t ready pop so they sit there practically asking for an audience for days or weeks. The worst Noctis has ever had on his face is a one-day blemish and scrapes from sparring with his bodyguard—and people think those are cool. There’s next to nothing cool about the lagging best friend with sore spots on his face to match the sore parts of himself.

Gladio shakes his head, "Funny guy. Well, I'll be heading out to update His Majesty on the Princess', err...we'll call it progress."

Ignis waves him off then asks their guest, "Can I make you anything to eat or drink while you wait for Noct to return? Tea? A latte? I can whip up lunch in no time."

"That's okay, Ignis."

"Oh dear. My cooking isn't appeasing you."

"What?! No, no! Just...I didn't wanna bother you but if you have any of those pastry's you keep making for Noct left, I wouldn't mind one, two...maybe three?"

Ignis sighs, "Alright but three is the limit. I won't be an accomplice to your sugar-intoxicated death."

"Love you, Iggy!" Prompto sounds and he behaves so simple, so sweet...like there's no other reason he's sitting in the kitchen besides waiting to start studying with his best friend.

The great refrigerator is there, in it's tallness and expensive glimmer. He happens to know that regular milk and protein milk are distinguishable when you've been on a diet long enough. Noctis' diet has only just started accompanying the sparring. As he switches the milks, pouring them in to each other's cartons, Prompto figures Noctis wouldn't notice a single difference and he wouldn't care much if somehow his clothes felt tighter on him...if his body was expanding without his permission. As he closes the refrigerator door and the light dims, he wonders if Noctis would stand in front of the mirror for hours, counting all the unlikable parts?

 

. . . .

 

The third and unknowingly last phase happens in the school newspaper club room, and with some help. Prompto is sitting on the front desk as he leads, the meeting in place of the absent Chief Editor; he gets picked to do so under this circumstance nearly every time because the editor knows he’s the most eager, the most driven and literally goes nowhere without his camera. It’s that time of the week again when the club members gather and discuss what to feature next and it has to be big, has to impress, has to avoid being dropped in to the nearest bin at the nearest chance.

The newspaper’s usual idea-pitcher for the team, a red headed boy with a shortened pencil behind an ear, offers “Prince Noctis.”

“What about him?” asks Prompto.

“The fact that he goes to a public school and it’s ours is one thing, but what about what it’s like for him? If the cafeteria mystery meat hasn’t made him switch to homeschooling yet, I’m fascinated to know what counters that. What’s making him stick around."

“Probably the mystery of the meat. That’s a hard case to crack and it’s been years.” Prompto says and it his circle of collegues laugh. “But you’re kinda on to something. How about instead of asking him what he likes about public school, we show the school what it’s like to have him here instead.”

A blonde girl, who volunteers to mainly work the printer over troubleshooting problems and unproductive wifi, timidly raises her hand, “E-Excuse me but I-I don’t really know what you mean.”

The red headed boy does, or seems to think so by the enthusiasm in the wave of his hand. “Ooh, ooh! Or we show people ways he’s down to our level. You know, like say, we catch him on the off chance he wears trainers instead of Lucian-leather loafers to school. Or we catch him riding the bus instead of stepping out of that limo.”

“It’s not a _limo_.” Prompto mentions.

“But it’s not a _regular_ car. Basically, we catch him off-guard when he’s far from being a Prince. With his finger up his nose, with him napping in class, with spillage on his clothes.”

“Sorry," another journalist for the club, a brunet, adds sassily, “Are we doing an article on Prince Noctis or a four month old?”

“Shut up. You know what I’m saying—”

“ _Moronic_ things.”

“Don’t see you offering any up.”

“So you just suggest whatever shit comes first in your tiny brain to compensate? Ohh, we’re all _so_ impressed.”

Prompto groans and rubs the sides of his head. “Guys, come on, work together. We need ideas.”

The blonde girl's hand goes up again, “You’re close with the Prince, right? Don’t you think an article like what was suggested stands to do more harm to his reputation than good? People don’t want to see their future ruler as a nose-picking, class-neglecting, messy toddler. They want stability and responsibility and—”

“Boooring!” the red head shouts obnoxiously,  “Come on, Prompto may be friends with our next ruler but this is club business and he can’t be partial. _That_ will ruin _our_ reputation!”

In agreement, Prompto brings out a speech on the integrity of the newspaper club and how it's a priority to produce interesting articles. When it ends, he tells the fretful blonde to reassure her fragile heart and strong morals that he won't ruin the Prince's image. But it's somewhat of a lie because next he discusses the red head's idea, realizing it can work in his favor too.

By the end of the day, the article is drafted up and space for it in the next issue is made on the front page. By the start of the new week, the newspaper club hits it’s record, selling over thirty copies and getting the halls buzzing. Prompto likes it very much, the chit-chat and gasps and an umbrella of reactions all over the newspaper. For once, people are occupied with someone else’s hang-ups rather than his own. For once, he can think of an accomplishment rather than a failure. The article is such a success, he even spots Noctis with his own copy and his reaction, Prompto has to say, makes suffocating the bit of betrayal and guilt he feels worthwhile.

 

. . . .

 

Ignis has to wait three hours after the official end of school for his Prince to come home and the coffee and scones he had waiting for him are no longer freshly hot. After swearing he doesn’t need to be followed because he’s old enough, the adviser has a full mind to cut the deal and return to following him behind in the Regalia. “You’re late.”

Noctis closes the door to the living, coming in, “Was at the arcade.”

“For three hours?.”

“They had the updated version of King's Knight.”

“I see…” Ignis’ eyes follow the Prince as he drops to the adjoining furniture, uniform askew and bag haphazardly beside. He looks spent. “How was school today?”

“Can we not talk about it?”

“I’m inclined to ask and seeing you in this state only makes me want to enforce it.”

“School was school.”

“I need more than that, Your Highness.”

Noctis, still unwilling to speak much, pulls the school newspaper out of his bag and drops it on to the coffee table. Ignis leans forward to inspect it: the front-page headline reads _'Prince to Peasant?' in dark, bold font and the preview of the article continuing a few pages on reads 'We, the school newspaper, are dedicated to  ambitiously finding the next best scoop and this, ladies and gentlemen, is it for this week. The picture presents a rare sight of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum smudging his bloodline, but the speck of dirt on his cheek from a tumble in Phys.Ed could literally be the closest he's ever been on a commoner level. It's doubtful the school populace will be surprised if this is unveiled to be the beginning of him trying to understand us 'nobodies' a little more.'_ The photo it speaks of is slightly blurry and the colors are a little dull but it's obviously Noctis rubbing dirt off his face with the collar of his shirt.

"Well, if I've ever been on the side supporting you attend public school, I feel a retraction is on the horizon." Ignis puts the paper down, unable to stomach looking at the ridiculous, gossip infested thing. "Although unwanted attention and scandals come with being a celebrity, I must admit there's something amiss with the article and it isn't sitting right with me."

Noctis yawns loudly, "Yeeeaaaaah, well...aaahhhh, take some pills and sleep on it." and he rolls on to his side to lay down on the couch for a nap, neglecting his king-sized bed upstairs calling him.

"No, Noct, please listen." Ignis leans over to poke the Prince but he stubbornly doesn't move. "I have a theory and I want you to hear me out before you argue. It’s likely Prompto wrote this article. Or at least pitched it to a colleague."

"Very funny."

"I wouldn't fantasize this, least of all for comedic effect. Just after you left to shower, he said the exact same thing about you as what’s written in this article; Gladio and myself heard him word for word.” Ignis hears nothing in response from His Highness. It must be the shock, it must be the denial setting in. A minute of silence goes and Ignis thinks it’s normal. Three minutes pass and he thinks Noctis has fallen asleep except his eyes blink now and then. Five minutes pass and Ignis is worried. “Noct, I imagine this news is...it’s a bit on the disbelieving side of things—”

“Do you know how much milk costs?”

“...Pardon?”

“Milk from a convenience store.”

Ignis is lost as to how it's relevant, “The standard thirty-milliliter carton costs 9 Gil and the average size costs 17 Gil. If you purchase either with a coupon, a generous percentage age is deducted from the original price.” He answers and waits for something else to be said but Noctis is silent. “Noct, please stop staring silently in to absolutely nothing, it's _harrowing_."

Noctis sits up, "He asked me the other day but I acted like it didn’t matter.”

“Who did?”

“Prompto. He asked if I knew and I didn’t so I said it didn’t matter. The last line in the note I got was a question on if I knew that or not.”

“What letter?”

“Prompto’s! It’s been Prompto all this time, doing these things.”

“ _What letter_ , Noct?”

Noctis stands quickly, startling his adviser and nearly giving himself a head-rush. He starts pacing the length of the couch as pieces come together, as said pieces shed sense. “My milkshake tasted differently too. I thought it was nothing but I’ve been drinking the low-fat milk for so long, I noticed the other day the taste was off, like it was regular fat milk and a couple days back I threw my shirt out 'cause it wouldn't fit me anymore so now I—I'm figuring shit out and I think Prompto's behind that too.”

“Slow down, Noct. You’re saying Prompto’s been trying to sabotage you? Why?”

Noctis has no clue on that and it’s disturbing. “I don’t know...but we're gonna find out tomorrow.”

 

. . . .

 

“I’ll let you explain first ‘cause I’d love to hear what you’ve got to say. Tell me why you did it.”

Prompto may not have shown up at Noctics’ old place again if he knew what was going to happen, if he knew he’d been found out so soon. The invitation sounded casual enough, an evening promising games and junk food and a very late night. To think all that can still happen tonight or any night feels far-fetched. Right in front of him is Nocits’ copy of their school’s latest newspaper with the front-page article headline circled in angry red, and Noctis himself looking betrayed and annoyed.

“...D-Did what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Prompto. I’ve figured it out.”

“Your Highness, has he arrived yet? Is Prompto—” Ignis stops on way of storming in, Gladio right behind, and sees the blond sitting across the island. “So here you are. Where you found the nerve to actually show yourself after all you’ve done is astounding.”

His best friend hating him is hard enough to deal with—it’s the worst. But it’s also painful to be harshly spoken to, even if it’s deserved, by Ignis who has become like an older, wiser brother to him. Prompto can’t manage to get his words out but his pleas with his name, “I-Ignis...Ignis, please—”

“What in Lucis were you thinking? Why in the six did you go to such lengths to sabotage His Highness? After he’s been kind enough to grant you his friendship as well! After you’ve been invited in to his home, in to his life and we’ve made adjustments for your part in it!”

“Ignis, you don’t—”

“We were skeptical from the moment we heard you existed—more myself than Gladio—still, we gave you a chance and considered you a friend to Noct. We were lenient enough to trust you all this time and you surprise us by pulling these childish stunts.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Why? I can’t fathom you escaping this one. Admit you’ve been caught, that you’ve let your jealousy run a bit wild.”

"Careful, Iggy." Gladio crosses his arms, "Or he might shove a nasty note in your locker, too, and that's just for starters."

"I would never...I didn't think Noct would understand." Prompto admits. "I'm awful, I know. Ridiculously and irrationally insecure but I wanted Noct to know, to understand on my level what it feels like.”

"I never thought you'd be capable of trying to sabotage anyone, let alone me." Noctis takes a step forward. Then another, coming closer. "I can't believe you'd want to make your best friend feel like total shit." When Prompto doesn’t respond., Noct says to Ignis and Gladio, "Guys, give us space. I want to talk to him alone.”

"With all due respect, Noct, I don’t think that’s a good idea.

"Yeah. You outta your mind?"

“He’s still Prompto. He’s still my best friend.” Noctis tells them, meaning every word because if Prompto really wanted to hurt him, a Knife would’ve done the job, or a gun or a paid assassin.

When Gladio leaves it’s gladly, passive-aggressively grunting as he walks out on the mess he can’t believe Prompto even started. When Ignis follows after it’s hesitantly, pitching up his spectacles for a clear look at Prompto who has just lost part of his trust. The kitchen door swings on their absence and Noctis waits for it to settle and close.

The way Noctis silently stands from his stool and staggers round the island makes his best friend think a punch is coming his way. Prompto closes his eyes in the split second he sees Noctis raises his arms.

For a hug.

A big, warm, secure sign of affection. Noctis is hugging Prompto, not the saboteur but the best friend who has needed someone to listen, to lean on, to help him. Noctis’ chest shakes as he breathes out while he tries not to cry. "How...how completely ignorant have I been to have missed all the hints that you were feeling so bad?"

Prompto blinks rapidly and is half prying Noctis away, feeling undeserving of such a sympathetic affection. He comes to hug back as his own way of apologizing for everything. He feels his eyes welling again, sees his vision blurring and it's returning, the feeling of being pathetic. Why should he cry? He did the bad thing. “...You’re not mad?”

“I’m fucking mad.” Noctis hugs him tighter. “More at myself, though. If I—”

“No, Noct.”

“If I wasn’t so far up my own ass with problems—most of which I don’t have to bother with until I’m king—then you could’ve just talked to me and you wouldn’t have gone on a vendetta rampage.”

“It’s not a vendetta. I’m not a masked terrorist with a letter for a name.”

Noctis senses it’s okay to laugh a little at that, “Beneath this mask there is more than flesh, beneath this mask there is an idea and ideas are bulletproof.” he slowly ends the hug, dropping his arms and standing back but close enough. “You’ve been right all along, Prom, I’m not like the rest of you. Not even Ignis or Gladio who have real problems. I want to understand, though, I want to connect with people I’ll eventually have to rule over.”

“You’ve done okay with this Pleb so far, Your Highness.”

“Yeah but I want to do great. I’m not going to let you down anymore, Prompto, I swear. Please forgive me.”

“Do _you_ forgive _me_?”

“Duh, ‘course I do.”

“Good. You may now hug the best friend.”

Noctis snorts at the cheesy reference but it’s the perfect moment for them, so they do hug.

Ignis and Gladio come in when they don’t hear any more talking. The scene surprises them but it also relieves them. Their skepticism and scolding toward Prompto was on behalf of their roles as the king-to-be’s adviser and shield, but in reality they were hurt, too, that Prompto could’ve done such a thing, that he felt compelled to. If they were aware sooner, they would’ve definitely stepped in to reassure his worth.

"You'll have to earn back my trust." Ignis says. "You can start tomorrow afternoon; you're joining Noctis' workout schedule."

Prompto blinks, "Er, what?"

"Four hours a day after school, five days a week."

"You're joking."

"Look at me, Prompto. Do I appear to be joking?” Ignis even pushes up his glasses, working the serious Professor vibe to his advantage. “It's the least you can do to make up for your disgraceful act against His Highness."

"I told you we're fine now." Says Noctis in defense.

“Your merciful nature is quite admirable, Your Highness, but my duty to ensure your well-being doesn’t allow me to keep off my guard.”

“You heard the Prince, Iggy, he’s saying I don’t have to join in!” Prompto says.

Noctis let’s him down, “I wouldn’t mind the company to be honest. And I wouldn’t mind Gladio haggling someone else for a change.”

 

. . . .

 

There’s a note falling out of Prompto’s locker this time. This one is neatly folded in half and there are no creases. What Prompto finds inside is a very corny but equally appreciated line on how his existence is approved by the future King of Lucis and said King thinks his best friend is pretty amazing. Such kind words feel undeserving but Prompto's learning to stop being hard on himself...or at least he's trying to. Maybe he just can't do it alone; maybe this is one of the times support from friends is really needed.

Prompto closes his locker.

"Hey there." Noctis was never seen until now, leaning casually against his locker a few ways up, appearing at the right time like a revealed hero. "What you got there? A love letter?"

Prompto smiles, "Psshyeah. Got a queue of girls lining up for my goods, Bro."

"They’ve got good taste."

They stand in silence for a while, staring at each other between all unsaid and spoken things, all the while students come and go in a hustle before the morning bell can buzz.

Today, the letter in Prompto's locker...it's everything. The day is just starting but it 

“I got something for you..." Noctis’ hand goes in his pocket and pulls out a small carton of milk, "I went out the other night and paid 9 Gil myself."

Prompto stares at it, “Noct...you checked? For me?”

“Ignis told me before I figured out what you were doing, but the point is....You belong with me—not as a King ordering somebody but as a best friend wanting his best friend for a realistic eternity.”

“Slow down, Romeo, you’re talking like you want us to elope.”

“So you don’t wanna run away to Wiz’s Chocobo farm?”

“Noct, don't talk insane.”

Neither of the thought they’d be having this kind of conversation with each other so soon. They thought they’d need time to help things settle and soothe where pain may still indefinitely remain. Yet here they are, best friends with their own lingo that’s sixty percent banter and forty percent dorky confessions that one of them would get hitched to their best friend and see their favourite creature in the entire universe. Who knows? Maybe if you’re not a little or completely in love with your best friends, there’s a lot that needs reevaluating.

The bell rings for first period.

Noctis holds an arm out. Soon, Prompto fits right under it as the long-lost piece.

They’re walking through the halls in sync again, and everyone who looks sees they’re as inseparable as before—as they’ll probably always be. Their casual chatter moves around the halls. Their liveliness adds sound and color where uninspired, unexcited students linger. Their being together is like everything is as close to perfect as it can be.

**Author's Note:**

> *I don’t know what Lucian currency is so I used ‘Gil’.


End file.
